"Come, Luke, old chap, don't be hard upon me. I've been waiting patiently till I got cool, and you had finished playing, before I came and spoke to you again. Now, then, it's only a hundred." "And it'll be a hundred next week, and a hundred next month. I won't lend you a penny." "Then, give it me. I've a right to some of the old man's coin." "Not a sou, I tell you, and get out of my way. I want to go to bed." "You'll help me, Luke?" "No! Stand aside!" "Come, don't be hard. I'm your brother." "Worse luck!" said the squire, whose face was flushed by the brandy he had taken. "Never mind that. Let me have the hundred." "I tell you again, not a sou. Curse you! Will you let me come by?" cried the squire savagely; for the spirit had taken an awkward turn, and his face grew purple. "Once more; will you let me have the money?" "No!" roared the squire. "Get out of the way--dog!" "Dog, yourself! Curse you for a mean hound!" cried Tom Candlish, with a savage look. "You don't go by here till you've given me a cheque." The squire's temper was fully roused now. He had restrained it before; though, several times when he had uttered a low laugh and kept on handling his cue, his anger had been seething, and ready to brim over. Now, at his brother's threat, that he should not pass until he had signed a cheque, he seized Tom by the shoulder as he blocked the way, and flung him aside. Luke Candlish cleared the passage for his descent; but roused the evil in his brother, so that Tom closed with him in a fierce grip. The struggle was almost momentary. There was a wrestling here and there, and then Luke Candlish put forth his whole strength as he practised a common Cornish trick, and Tom was thrown heavily upon the landing. "There!" cried the squire; "lie there, you idiot! You'll get no cheque from me." The squire had to pass over his brother's body to reach the stairs, and he was in the act of rapidly crossing him, when, with a desperate effort, Tom made a savage snatch at his leg. The result was what might have been expected: the sudden check caused the squire to lose his balance, and he literally pitched head foremost down the stairs, to fall with a heavy crash at the bottom. Tom Candlish rose to his hands and knees, and gazed at where his brother lay, just beneath the lamp in the lobby, head downwards, and in a curiously-awkward position for a living man. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. A TERRIBLE SILENCE. "Serve him right," muttered Tom. Then rising and pushing the door, which had swung to, he entered the dark billiard-room, where he felt his way to the spirit stand, and took a hearty draught. "Curse him! he's as strong as a horse. I wish he had broken his neck." The brandy gave him nerve, and he returned through the baize door into the light.